


Stripping Stiles

by eldee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/pseuds/eldee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles strips for charity. Derek is not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripping Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> Expanded from a 750 word ficlet for LJ's Mating_Games challenge #1 - first time. (Although the first time isn't to be a sex act, though sex is certainly encouraged. And how.)
> 
> Thanks to **asocialfauxpas** for reading over the expanded version of this.  <3!

The moment Stiles steps on the stage Derek can sense his anxiousness laced with a little fear. Not that the crowd can tell, but Stiles' heart is pounding and he's taking deep breaths while he waits for the music to start.

Derek moves away from his usual bouncer post near the bar at the back of the club. On a normal night, he keeps watch to make sure the rowdy customers at _Peter's Place_ , the local strip joint, don't harass Stiles too much. Stiles is a friendly yet way too flirty bartender who is as much the regulars' favourite as the dancers are, always quick to smile and do what he can to please customers when it comes to serving drinks and keeping them coming back for more.

But that doesn't mean Stiles can't hold his own, because he certainly can. With his razor-sharp wit and dangerous glares, he can fend off anyone who gets too friendly, or too pushy, or inappropriately moves into his space.

That means Derek sometimes too. Derek's gotten into shit of his own for pulling a protective act -- _possessive_ , Stiles' voice hisses inside Derek's head. Derek can't help it, it's the animal inside, but he does what he can to control it. Stiles sometimes doesn't mind that Derek claims him as his own and does everything he can to ward off others -- Stiles gets off on it too -- but other times he really doesn't like it, and _especially_ when they're at work. Derek's had to learn how to maneuver around Stiles' moods, and know when to step in and when not too. He still fucks it up.

Tonight. Tonight, Derek's going to have to try really hard not to. It will be a test to his patience and restraint, he knows. And so does Stiles.

Other than a couple fancy twirls as he moves behind the bar, or head-bopping to the beat as he pours drinks, Stiles never dances and definitely doesn't strip at the club … Never, that is, until tonight. And only because he agreed to after nearly everyone -- regulars, friends, the staff, the usual strippers -- begged him to for the charity event being hosted.

Derek didn't. Derek doesn't beg. But he hadn't wanted this to happen, and Stiles knows that. Stiles has a mind of his own and more than anything he likes to prove to Derek he can make his own choices. At one protest from Derek, Stiles declared he was doing it. 

_For charity, Derek, it's for good!_

Derek's pretty sure Stiles is using this stunt like a little game. Normally, that'd piss Derek off, but he's up to this challenge. He intends to win. He will not lose his cool just because his boyfriend is stripping on stage. He will _not_.

Derek wonders now, as he looks at the strained smile on Stiles' face while he stands in the centre of the stage facing the crowd waiting for the music, if Stiles is regretting taking this approach. The vindictive side of Derek thinks that's what he'd deserve; but the bigger part that is only concerned for Stiles hopes he gets through it okay, and doesn't hate himself for doing it.

True to habit, Derek gets closer to the stage, to where Stiles is. He scowls when something stupid from the Top 40s starts playing, but Stiles already relaxes as it does, as if it's another entity that helps take the focus off him. He's wrong, though, because it only adds to his presence as he starts to sway his hips to the beat, slowly working his body into the music. Catcalls begin to rise from the crowd, and excited screams erupt when Stiles playfully tugs at the zipper of his hoodie.

It shatters his attempt to look sexy when a laugh leaks out, a flash of white teeth as he smiles but then tries to rein it in. The thing is, it only makes him look more attractive, so unlike the usual dancers, and the crowd reacts instantly with hollering and clapping. It's a chain reaction that makes Stiles give a full-belly laugh, but he pulls down his zipper to reveal his pale, bare chest.

Derek's claws inch out. He digs them into his palm, the pain a reminder to keep his calm. They had talked about this, but that doesn't stop the wolf inside from growling at seeing Stiles exposed like that to others. Derek clenches his hands into fists and takes deep breaths, but plants his feet in place so that he doesn't make any stupid moves.

Stiles continues across the stage, dancing in a series of spastic yet impressive moves -- that one learned from Boyd, that one from Jackson, and that is definitely Danny's. It's an odd mix of styles, but with a flash of his boyish grin and increasingly bared skin, Stiles has the entire crowd lapping it up. He relaxes into the routine, flows with the music, and feeds off the energy and excitement of the crowd.

Stiles laughs as they scream louder when he pulls off his tearaway pants. He turns and shakes his ass, and Derek knows that's solely for him.

There are twin paw prints painted in silver on the back of Stiles' red boxer briefs.

Derek rolls his eyes but grins, feeling more comfortable with it all. Especially since he knows that's as far as Stiles is willing to go -- he promised to dance, but he absolutely refused to go full monty. It was a compromise, but one that Stiles was all too happy to go along with, much to Derek’s relief.

_You're the only one that actually gets to see this perfect ass, Derek, don't worry._

Derek contents himself with thinking about the absolute worship he will pay that ass later when they're alone and have the time.

The song is winding down, just another minute to go -- thank fuck -- and it's going pretty smoothly, even with that one minor trip up that Stiles recovers from like he's a pro. Derek only tenses again when Stiles does -- an excited young woman reaches over when Stiles dances along the side of the stage, and tucks a bill into Stiles' briefs.

Stiles freezes, momentarily alarmed, but acts like he's done this a million times instead of never, sliding along and accepting more money. It _is_ the point but Derek still swallows back the urge to tear into someone, anyone, for touching Stiles.

When the song thumps its final beat, there's pure relief on Stiles' face. He laughs with the enthusiastic crowd, pulling bills out of his underwear, and gives a ridiculous but charming bow and claps back at them. He dumps the money into the big, clear bin at stage left with the rest of the donations. He waves one last time over his shoulder, disappearing backstage.

Derek abandons post, trusting the other bouncer will cover the room for a few minutes, and slips into the door that leads backstage. When he goes into the communal change room, Jackson rolls his eyes but at least Boyd helpfully points to the back office.

There he finds Stiles alone, holding his work shirt and jeans, but still only in his red briefs with silver paw prints.

Stiles startles for a second when the door opens, but he breaks into a large, shaky smile when he sees Derek.

"Oh my god, did you see that?" Stiles laughs breathlessly, his cheeks flushed red from dancing. "I can't believe I actually -- in front of all those people -- and I wasn't bad! Did you-- _umph_."

Derek pushes him against the desk, takes Stiles' face between his hands, and plants a hard, claiming kiss against his mouth. Stiles moans into it, relaxing like he hasn't since the start of that stupid song, and drops his clothes so he can grip at Derek's elbows.

"Oh yeah," he says, nipping at Derek's bottom lip, "you liked it."

"No," Derek says, "I really didn't."

Stiles' grin is mischievous, and he presses his hips against Derek's. Stiles isn't hard -- probably of nerves from dancing -- but it's incredibly obvious that Derek is.

"You sure about that?" Stiles says, pushing Derek's leather jacket off his shoulders. "I know you didn't like me doing that, but man, I think you liked _me_ while I did that."

"Don't be an idiot," Derek says, mouthing along Stiles' jaw. "I always like you."

"Such a sweet talker," Stiles murmurs, but his heart is thumping hard again and it has absolutely nothing to do with dancing. “You didn’t freak out on anybody.”

“No, I didn’t.” Derek pauses a second, then reluctantly admits, “I wanted to.”

Stiles doesn’t get mad. His smile gets wide and irresistible, proud and pleased, all within a second -- Derek has to kiss it.

They don't really have a lot of time -- technically, they're both on shift -- but there is no way Derek is letting them walk out of here without getting off. He shoves a hand into Stiles' boxers, and Stiles' hips buck against him again, reminding Derek of a particular dance move. Now that it's only for him, it's a complete turn-on.

Derek's teeth drag over Stiles' collarbone, and he tugs on his cock in the way that drives Stiles wild every time they're being fast and desperate while hiding in the back of the club. Derek's still mostly dressed, and neither of them are taking the time to get his clothes off, but Stiles makes efficient work of getting the front of Derek's jeans open. He groans when he sees Derek's commando, like he does every single time, and scratches his nails through the hair above Derek's cock. The muscles of Derek's stomach twitch, as does his dick, and Stiles laughs and leans forward to kiss Derek, surprisingly slow and deep. Derek lets himself get lost in it, his hand still holding Stiles' cock but distracted and not even jerking him off anymore.

When he leans back, Stiles' looks at Derek incredibly soft and fond, his lips red and swollen from their kissing. It breaks in an instant with Stiles grinning slyly, keeping strong eye contact as he quickly and sloppily licks his own palm, sucking on his fingers, getting his hand dripping wet. Derek watches, transfixed, pumping very slowly on Stiles’ cock. When Stiles slips his pinky out of his mouth with a little wet _pop_ , Derek pulls his hand out of Stiles’ briefs so he can grab Stiles by the hips and lifts him so his ass is sitting on the edge of the desk, surprising Stiles into laughter.

"Knew you'd like that," Stiles murmurs, kissing the underside of Derek's jaw as he pulls Derek's cock out of his jeans. He takes his own cock too, lining them up so he can jerk them off together. 

Derek's palms rest on Stiles' rib cage, blunt nails digging in, leaning them back a little to get the right angle. Stiles loops his free arm around Derek's shoulders to hold himself up, and presses his face into Derek's neck, breathing heavily, wet and warm against Derek's skin. Derek tilts his head down and kisses Stiles, open mouthed, tongue fucking into Stiles and making him groan.

The warm skin of their dicks presses against each other as Stiles jerks them off, but it's not quite enough, not quite there, so Derek brings a hand down, gripping the other side of their cocks. His fingers tangle with Stiles', and they work together to move faster. Stiles moans when Derek squeezes their cocks even closer together, his entire body shuddering, and he bites down hard through Derek's black shirt and into his shoulder.

It feels claiming, possessive, and it's like a current shooting right through Derek, realising that Stiles acts that way too sometimes. It makes him come with a grunt, shooting all over Stiles' stomach. They stroke him through his orgasm, but then his dick goes soft alongside Stiles, too sensitive to be held any more. Stiles is still hard, desperate, and moans when Derek pushes his hand away from their cocks.

"Lean back, come on," Derek says, feeling breathless himself but focused on making this good for Stiles. He nudges at Stiles, and Stiles goes with it, placing his hands behind him on the desk, spreading his legs more so Derek can fit there better. Derek takes a second to look -- Stiles looks thoroughly debauched, hair messy and briefs shoved down just enough so that his hard dick is laying flat against his stomach, chest red and splotchy from exertion.

"Jesus, come the fuck on," Stiles says, shifting his weight to one hand so that he can reach for his cock again. Derek pushes his hand away and moves in. Stiles settles back, looking content enough that Derek's on the move, but also fucking desperate, and Derek's not going to make him wait any more. Derek leans one hand on the desk next to Stiles' hip, but he slides his free hand through the mess of come on Stiles' stomach, making the slip-slide of jerking Stiles off all the smoother. Stiles groans and tilts his head back while Derek gets him off, and Derek can't help but lean forward to lick the lean line of his neck. He returns the favour and bites down on Stiles' shoulder too.

Stiles cries out suddenly as he comes in Derek's hand, across his own stomach, adding to the mess already drying there. His arms give out and his back falls onto the desk. "Oh my god," he says, waving one hand at the ceiling but then letting it drop again, hanging over the side. "Fuck, that's always so good."

Derek hums in agreement under his breath. His eyes are fixated on the come across Stiles' flat stomach, and he can't help but reach out and rubs their mixture together, painting it across his belly, over his hips, and wiping it off in the trail of hair between his navel and cock. Stiles just lies there staring up while he catches his breath and lets Derek get away with it, pressing their strong scent into his skin.

"Come on," Derek says, taking him by the hands and pulling him up. Stiles acts like a limp noodle but cooperates enough. He sits up and Derek pulls away, tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up. He doesn't miss how Stiles eyes his crotch happily. "No time for more right now," Derek says, smirking.

"I know," Stiles says with a sigh, standing up and picking his clothes up off the floor.

"You do have to get back to the bar," Derek says.

"Yeah, smelling like come," Stiles says, wrinkling his nose even as he leaves it, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Smelling like us."

Stiles freezes in spot, but a grin spreads across his face. "You," he says, "definitely deserve a private lap dance later."

Now _that_ was a stripping Stiles dance Derek could get behind.


End file.
